


croce is nice, and you're even better

by justacitygirlbornandraisedinwhoops



Category: Adventures of Huckleberry Finn - Mark Twain, Adventures of Tom Sawyer - Mark Twain, Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1970s, M/M, bear with me folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 07:54:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18796147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justacitygirlbornandraisedinwhoops/pseuds/justacitygirlbornandraisedinwhoops
Summary: Huck’s fingers ghosted across the chipped lacquered surface of the guitar, worn with age. Then, he’d played; hummed out the melody, didn’t even have to sing all the words. They both knew. As he felt his lips vibrate, pressed together, he watched Tom intently, as he always did. Tom’s hazel eyes, usually so vibrant and striking, seemed to cool as they followed Huck’s callused fingers move nimbly, lithely against the strings. He, usually so eager to speak, became quiet while Huck pushed out lovely noise into the thin air.---Very, very self indulgent 1970's AU fic





	croce is nice, and you're even better

**Author's Note:**

> credit for the whole idea of this fic goes to twains-side-chick @ tumblr you guys!! give her some love!
> 
> a lot of really sweet headcanons came up on discord for the au, including huck being able to play guitar and having a really lovely singing voice so, naturally, i had to mold it into this fic
> 
> EDIT: ALSO we just made a kink meme for the fandom (i know kink memes have pretty much all but died out at this point, and the name sounds pretty incriminating BUT) check it out here!!! https://twainkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/526.html it's just a really cool place to anonymously post prompts and fills, whether it be fanfic, fanart, etc., whatever.
> 
> enjoy!

 

_July 4, 1976._

 

The tinny voice from the radio wafts out into the humid summer air, with little to no regard from the two young men lying nearby.

_“Happy birthday, Uncle Sam! Thanks for joining me this afternoon to celebrate America’s bicentennial, and here in Jefferson City things are looking fine and sunny. The parade is getting all lined up and just about ready to move on out, and…”_

They had stopped at a mini-mart and bought a six pack of soda to stuff in the icebox before heading over to the festival. They spent a good while traipsing around the fairgrounds, riding dinky coasters and slinging out quarters for carnival games. The open grassy area grew fairly cramped, and though Huck was content sprawling himself over their picnic blanket, Tom had insisted that the sweltering weather was impossible to enjoy like _this_ (he had emphatically gestured to all those surrounding them with a flourish of the hand) and they retire somewhere more private.

As if on cue, a child brandishing a sparkler flew past with a sharp squeal of delight. Huck had merely offered a sympathetic smile while Tom stood, frowning, arms folded across his chest.

Now they’re lying on the hood of Tom’s station wagon, parked in an otherwise unoccupied meadow on the countryside and nearly boiling beneath the swath of a bright blue, cloudless sky. 

Tom shovels the last of his strawberry sorbet into his mouth and glances briefly over at Huck. “Hit me.”

Huck complies. He grabs a bottle of soda from the icebox and hands it over, then wipes his damp hand against the leg of his pants.

Tom twists the cap off, takes a swig and offers an appreciative hum. “Huck.” When he sits up, his shades have fallen to the tip of his nose. “You wanna head back after this?” he asks.

“Whatever you wanna do,” replies Huck noncommittally.  “I don’t really care.” 

“They’re setting off fireworks later tonight. We should be able to see from here.”

“You don’t mind waiting around?”

Tom reclines back against the hood and shakes his head. “Cooler here than there. Too crowded.” The pin on his shirt glistens as it catches the light from the sun. Huck remembers when Tom had first stumbled across it years ago, discarded on the side of the road. He would have missed it, had it not been for being so painfully, strikingly _yellow_ ; no doubt, it would stand out like a sore thumb from a mile away. “Hippy-dippy says love,” it read in big, orange bubble letters, and Aunt Polly had forbid him from wearing it. Of course, this hadn’t stopped him, but Huck couldn’t blame the poor woman from trying.

A pleasant breeze stirs through the meadow then, rustling the grasses, and Huck lets his eyes drift shut. The air smells earthy, mothy. He releases a breath that he hadn’t known he’d been holding and wipes the sweat from his brow. “It might get cooler,” he suggests hopefully. Soft breezes on days like this are always a blessing, he knows, but his reprieve is short-lived.

“Yeah, it will,” Tom snickers quietly as he presses his ice-cold bottle of soda against Huck’s vulnerably exposed neck.

“ _Shit—!_ ”

He cries out and scutters a few inches away from Tom, before his arm shoots out to grab the wrist of the hand that wields the offending item. Tom is red-faced above him, grinning from ear to ear and having nearly lost his shades. When Huck laughs in disbelief, Tom’s shoulders stiffen, as though he’s expecting to be ambushed the same way in return. Smart of him.

Huck nearly tackles Tom in the struggle to press the bottle back against his own neck. Tom is howling with laughter fending Huck off one moment, wide-eyed with excitement, and then falling off the edge of the car with a yelp the next. His breath exits his lungs with a loud gush of air.

“You okay? Oh, don’t look at me like _that_.” While attempting to stifle laughter, without success.

Needless to say, Tom grabs the picnic blanket from the back seat so that he can lie on the ground. Huck gladly joins him.

“Change the station,” says Tom, and when Huck gives him a small look, adds an only slightly impatient, “Please,” and gives him a small peck on the cheek. The static dances through the speakers while Huck turns the knob, and as they both listen closely, a song can be made out clearly.

_“Well, I know it’s kinda late, I hope I didn’t wake you…”_

“Aw, Hucky,” Tom smiles knowingly. “Keep it.”

The almost sheepish grin on Huck’s lips turns lopsided. He feels Tom’s slender fingers close around his wrist; when he peers down, he watches attentively as the birdlike bones and veins shift beneath his pale skin. He cannot help but become all the more perceptive of each action of Tom’s, each slight movement, each time his grasp around his wrist tightens.

He’s pulled down slowly to the blanket, drawn close so that Tom can press himself against his side. If Huck were in a sour mood, he probably would’ve minded being wedged together like this in such humid weather, and he supposes Tom would, too. But right now, he raises no complaints, just lets Tom’s head fall against his chest as the melody’s crescendo unfurls; growing with urgency, and yet still mildly sweet around its edges, almost soft, retaining some of its gentleness.

_“Yeah, I know it’s kind of strange. Every time I’m near you, I just run out of things to say. I knew you’d understand.”_

Huck can almost feel his own fingers pluck out the guitar’s melody.

He remembers the last time he’d played that song for him.

They had been cooped up in Tom’s dorm at university; his roommate was out, and so they had the chance to be alone together. Huck’s fingers ghosted across the chipped lacquered surface of the guitar, worn with age. Then, he’d played; hummed out the melody, didn’t even have to sing all the words. They both knew. As he felt his lips vibrate, pressed together, he watched Tom intently, as he always did. Tom’s hazel eyes, usually so vibrant and striking, seemed to cool as they followed Huck’s callused fingers move nimbly, lithely against the strings. He, usually so eager to speak, became quiet while Huck pushed out lovely noise into the thin air.

Now, Tom’s right hand raises to cradle Huck’s cheek. He lifts his head, then his body as he straddles Huck’s waist.

_“Every time I tried to tell you, the words just came out wrong. So I’ll have to say I love you in a song.”_

“Croce’s nice,” Tom titters playfully, “but I liked when you did it better.”

Huck’s lips curl into a crooked smile. “I, um. Good…? I’m, I’m _glad—_ ” Already flushed, his cheeks turn a beet red, and his hands fly to his face. A small, muffled sound of embarrassment tears from his throat. Tom’s knees in his corduroy bell-bottoms brush against Huck’s elbows as he shuffles restlessly.

He can feel Tom shaking with laughter atop him. Fingers peel his own away; Tom's face hangs so close to his own his auburn hair tickles Huck’s forehead. “I remember when I was little, before I ever talked to you, I always thought you were just this cool, stony loner wolf that smoked pot all day. That’s why I love seeing you like this—”

“Figures,” Huck sputters, dissolving into laughter all the same. “You’re just mean.” 

“Yeah, yeah. I can make up for it,” Tom scoffs, cradling Huck’s head in his hands as he presses another kiss to the corner of his mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> I got inspiration (unoriginally snatched) the bit about the "Hippy-dippy says love" pin from The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold, which is also set in the 70s and I was skimming for reference. Hope you all enjoyed the sap. Leave a comment, don't, it's up to ya (although comments always mean the world to me!)
> 
> EDIT: ALSO we just made a kink meme for the fandom (i know kink memes have pretty much all but died out at this point, and the name sounds pretty incriminating BUT) check it out here!!! https://twainkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/526.html it's just a really cool place to anonymously post prompts and fills, whether it be fanfic, fanart, etc., whatever.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
